


At the L OADS Motel

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: WTF? [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Shower Sex, Watersports, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the drive from Harvelle's to Sioux Falls, the boys detour to take care of urgent needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the L OADS Motel

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for watersports. If you don't like that, don't read.

Once again, they were on the road. Less than 48 hours after they'd pulled into the Roadhouse's parking lot, Sam barely on his feet and sicker than a dog, they showed the place their tail lights. Dean supposed they should be grateful for two nights and a day respite, and for Charlie's brief but thorough care of Sam, hot meals, clean clothes. He was. This just had not turned out how he'd imagined when they'd driven a thousand miles hellbent for leather to get there. 

Well, how typical. When did anything ever go according to plan? Hunting was dangerous, unpredictable; everyone in the life who survived their first half-year of it could attest to that. If a creature didn't rip you apart, a demon could possess your body or some over-enthusiastic local LEO might easily get you just as dead with friendly fire. How a pregnant brother factored into that, Dean had no clue. 

So here they were, pointed north by northwest toward Bobby's. Dean wasn't looking forward to the looks or tongue-lashing that was sure to be in store for them. The man could handle them being gay, but for each other? The I-word was going to get thrown around again. The rounds of questioning pertaining to Sam's condition were sure to be pin-point sharp and cringe-worthy. Sure, Bobby would calm down eventually. The most expert researcher of lore and history they'd ever met, he would want to solve the case. He'd want to help Sam, too. Except, solving how the current situation was even possible was only the beginning. How Bobby might help an expectant male survive the next few months remained to be seen. 

Next to him on Baby's front seat, Sam gazed out of the window. Dean wondered what he was thinking about, but didn't ask. The truth was, Sam had been quiet since his – and Dean's – blow-out with Jo and their resulting expulsion from the Roadhouse. Quiet, but, Dean was sure, simmering under the surface. As far as Dean was concerned, responsibility for them being told to go elsewhere for the duration lay at Jo's doorstep. Her aversion to Sam had overruled her – now past – feelings for Dean, an extended crush that might have allowed her to tolerate his younger brother's presence. But not, as it turned out, if the two of them were sexing it up under her nose and with a resulting state of knocked up. 

...Which never should have happened, since, duh, Sam was a dude. Still was a dude, of course, whatever extra parts he might be possessed of presently. An angry Sam could be downright scary, probably more-so to someone half his size, Dean reflected. That was still no excuse. It would be a while before the thought of Jo would provoke anything but a dull resentment. 

Not much he could do about it now. They'd just have to endure... whatever came next. The radio was fuzzing with static. Hoping it was because they were miles and miles from the signal and not some sort of spectral weirdness, Dean reached for the dial to change the channel. Nothing much reached them out here. He pushed in Houses of the Holy and let the familiarity of decades wash over him. 

* * *

It should have felt like any of the countless drives to Bobby's place they'd done in the past. Only it wasn't. This time, neither he nor Dean was even injured, Sam thought, but it was still very different despite the apparent normality: Dean was driving calmly, the Impala's engine was purring her flawless purr; even the tape was one they'd listened to so many times that Sam wondered the magnetic coating hadn't rubbed off entirely and left them with nothing but static to hear.

No, what had changed was so fundamental that despite Doc Charlie's assurances and the test results Sam's brain still refused to believe it. 

He was pregnant. 

Sam, a man, pregnant.

Something – a baby – was growing in him. A baby that had been sired by his own brother.

So he'd seen the ultrasound images, and unlike with the doctor in Elko, Sam trusted Charlie who'd taken a lot of time to explain what he was doing and what Sam was looking at. The same held for the printouts that proved that he, Sam, was with child.

And still, he was expecting to wake up any minute, any second now... Sam squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.

Nothing had changed. He hadn't woken up.

He rubbed his face and sighed. Dean threw him a concerned glance and Sam managed a smile. Having both of them freaking out wouldn't make things better and since his spectacular meltdown at Harvelle's Sam fought hard to keep his panic inside. Despite the help they'd received he was still fuming at Jo's suggestion that he have an abortion. As nice as it would have been to stay at the Roadhouse for a while, it wouldn't work, and Bobby's place was the only alternative he and Dean could think of.

They'd discussed many times already whether to give their old friend a call to announce not only their arrival but also their intention to stay there for a while including the reason for it, but so far the issue hadn't been resolved. Sam sighed again and decided to raise the topic for the umpteenth time.

"Dean, do you think we should call ahead?"

* * *

For a while, over several miles, it seemed like Sam was on the verge of saying something. Dean glanced at him, sure he knew what his brother would being up again. He was right. Sam questioned their decision to drop in on Bobby unannounced. Really, it wasn't the smartest of ideas. What they were dragging with them, so to speak, was the world's biggest pile of baggage. Not that it had ever stopped them before, but it was still not exactly polite. Hell, Bobby might not even be at home. He was a hunter, after all. He hunted. 

"Well, Sam, we talked about that," Dean replied. When he looked again, Sam's jaw muscle flashed. "Even if we don't let him know why we're coming, he can always smell it when we're lying or holding something back. I want to tell him on our own terms. It's gonna be bad enough without him pre-empting us." 

* * *

Sam listened to what Dean had to say. It hadn't changed from their last discussion and he hadn't expected it to, but that still didn't mean he was happy with the result.

"Dean, I know you have a point, but I still think we need to tell him, as in before we're actually there. I mean, imagine yourself in Bobby's place. Wouldn't you be annoyed if someone close to you dropped such a bomb on you without warning? If they had the opportunity to warn you, of course, which we have. Besides, I can't remember a single time when we didn't call ahead and give at least a few hints as to what's up."

Sam sighed again. "I don't like it. But then again, I'm not exactly happy with any of... this."

* * *

Dean pressed his lips together. "I can't stop you." As if he'd do anything physical to restrain Sam, even if he weren't driving, that might hurt Sam and the baby. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow, then looked back at the road. "Tell him we're on the way, tell him there's a case, if you must. That we need his help. Whatever. Just do not tell him about..."

Dean didn't have to flick his eyes or wave his hand in the direction of Sam's midsection for both of them to know what he was referring to, but he did both. Perhaps it was the overkill; Sam looked like he was framing his next argument. "What if you tell him and he says no? Huh? Then what? Do not have a safe place to stay or Bobby's library, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Look Sam," Dean talked over his brother, "I'm banking on him not being able to resist your puppy dog eyes... for sure not when there's a kid involved."

Bobby and his late wife had never had any children of their own, yet he'd stepped up time and time again as a foster parent to Sam and Dean, both when they were children themselves and into their adult years. Sure, he'd resisted Sam before, like when he'd been possessed by Meg or when they'd locked him in the panic room to try to cure his demon blood addiction. Unless there was something witchy or demonic about the baby, which Dean hadn't considered before that instant, Bobby would, Dean hoped, protect its – mother? carrier? – until after the birth.

After. Dean couldn't imagine handling a helpless newborn. The mere thought of something, someone, that was his on such a fundamental level made his eyes start to sting. Quickly blinking, Dean steadied himself. If Sam decided to make the call, he'd need to be ready to interrupt if that conversation wandered into dangerous territory. 

* * *

Sam sighed. As usual, his brother didn't get it. "Dean, if I call him and tell him we're on our way and need his help with a case but not what the case is actually about, that'd be worse than not calling at all. Besides, he'd never say no. Bobby is much closer to us than Ellen and she'd have never turned us away." If not for that little bitch Jo, Sam thought, annoyed by the wave of jealousy that the memory sparked.

He quickly returned his attention to the present, but what Dean said next didn't exactly improve his mood. "Puppy dog eyes, huh? Have you looked at me recently?"

Why was he so annoyed, Sam wondered. Must be hormones. Only, if he'd ever say that out loud, Dean would blame anything and everything on hormones from now on. No, he needed to get out of his funk, pronto, and regardless of Dean's insisting to not tell Bobby what they were about to drop on his doorstep.

But... puppy dog eyes? Really? "More like moose eyes," Sam blurted out. 

* * *

Dean snorted. "You really will be a moose pretty soon. And you're definitely not a girl, no matter what happens. Little girls don't pack what you..." he trailed off, cheeks heating, not from embarrassment but from actual heat. Two days of being semi-rested and clean hadn't lessened Sam's scent, which was like catnip to Dean's hormones. They hadn't touched each other in a sexual way after the pre-breakfast screaming match the day before and it was torture.

"Anyway, if you're determined to call, call." As he'd thought before, he couldn't – or wouldn't – forcibly restrain Sam. Plus, Dean remembered a short exchange with Dr. Charlie about how he wouldn't speak for Sam to other people. This wasn't exactly the same thing, but whatever. "If he says no, he says no." 

* * *

Finally, Dean agreed, however grudgingly, to let Sam call ahead and inform Bobby about the impending invasion. However, when Sam dialed the older hunter's number, all he got was voice-mail. Deciding that his pregnancy was too sensitive information to be on record, he just left a message that they were on their way and could Bobby call them back if he wasn't at home.

Sam sighed as he ended the call. "It looks as if we could have saved ourselves the whole discussion," he concluded. "And, um, sorry, but I'mma need another restroom break again soon."

* * *

When Sam didn't get a hold of Bobby directly but left a message, Dean couldn't say he was surprised. If Bobby wasn't out on a hunt, he could be outside working in the salvage yard, or lost in research or doing any of the hundred-and-one little jobs he was always busy with around his place. 

Closer to Sioux Falls there was more in the way of civilization, but at the moment they were still out in the boondocks. "Next town is another podunk but if I remember right from the last time we were out this way, it has a gas station and a cafe. Can you hold it for ten minutes, or do want me to pull over?" Dean asked when Sam announced he needed to pee. Nothing had changed in that regard. Sam's bladder had been on hyperdrive for the last few weeks. It was just another reason for them to have a semi-permanent place to stay.

* * *

"Let's try the ten minutes," Sam said. "If it doesn't work, I'll ask you to pull over before, um. Or," he grinned, suddenly feeling in a lighter mood because they'd tried to inform Bobby and it wasn't their fault if he didn't pick up the phone. 

"Or," Sam repeated, "you could tie a knot in, er, it." He leered. "Wanna give it a try?"

* * *

All the visuals flooding Dean's brain at Sam's innuendo were quickly diverted to his downstairs brain. "Dunno about a knot, Sam," he managed, "'cuz once I get my hand in your pants, it's not gonna be bendable for long, wouldn't you say?" Just to prove his point, Dean reached over and clapped his hand down on Sam's thigh, leaving it there. The worn denim wasn't the texture he wanted under his fingers, but he still stroked it suggestively.

Sure enough, Sam squirmed in his seat, and Dean heard his breathing hitch. "It would still effectively keep you from peeing though, wouldn't it?" he chuckled. 

* * *

Dean's hand made Sam gasp. After their first morning at the Roadhouse, they'd refrained from touching each other: Jo would probably cut their balls off otherwise. Now that they were on their own, however, Sam had been hard as nails ever since they'd embarked on their journey to Bobby's place. He hadn't told Dean, but his brother was about to find out.

"Like what you're doing," he said – wait, said? moaned! "Maybe we should take care of this before we arrive in Sioux Falls," Sam suggested breathlessly. "Do we have enough money for a cheap motel for a couple of hours?"

* * *

"If they still have that 6-room place on the outskirts, we have available credit cards. Or Richard D. Studdmeyer does," Dean replied, always as proud of his fake names as his fake credit. He slid his hand further up Sam's leg to his crotch and discovered he was fully hard. "Oh yeah... we gotta get a room. There's no way you can piss with that..."

Rubbing his thumb around and around where he could feel the head of Sam's dick, Dean cupped the rest of the length as best he could and gave it a squeeze. The counterpart in his own pants was already more than half-mast and filling fast. "Can't wait to get my hands all over every inch of you." He meant Sam's cock, as well as the rest of his body. Spying the little town in the distance Dean moved his hand from his brother's lap to the steering wheel and turned his eyes back to the road. "Now wouldn't be a good time to get pulled over..." 

They were in luck as far as a room, well, if they could consider the one and only option lucky. The motel was still open, though the hospital green paint had faded and was peeling off in irregular, fluttering strips. Three of the fluorescent letters in the sign were burned out, so that the All Roads Motel was the '  l  oads Motel'. No doubt, Dean thought. 

Soon he was pulling up to the office of the tiny roadside fleabag. Why did small towns always have such dumpy accommodations? Dean shut the engine off and looked over at Sam. "I'll go get a room, you don't wanna be pointing a deadly weapon at anyone," he laughed, gesturing at the enormous bulge under the fly of Sam's jeans. "Grab the lube. We're gonna have to drain that ASAP." 

* * *

By the time Dean pulled up at the cheap motel, Sam's eyes were watering because he needed to go so urgently. For a second, he wondered if the fluid from his bladder could leak from his eyes, but that made, of course, no sense at all. Still, if Dean didn't return with the key soon, the question whether one could piss with a raging hard-on would be put to the test... 

Except that his brother would kill him – and rightfully so – if that happened in the Impala. So Sam did as he was bidden and grabbed the lube from underneath his seat where they'd kept it since Elko.

Finally, Dean arrived with a smug grin on his face. The grin, however, turned into a frown when they entered their room and found that it was a single. Literally. Intended for a single person indeed since there was no bathroom but the toilet and shower stall were in a corner, set off only by a room divider.

Dean shrugged. "It was the only room available."

Sam swallowed. "Um, then I suppose you'll wanna wait outside for a mo."

* * *

"Uh... why? I can turn my back if you're shy." Dean waggled his eyebrows. Then he had a quick look at what he – or rather, Mr. Studdmeyer – had just paid for. Wow, they'd stayed in some dives, but this place took the cake, not even a real bathroom! It gave a whole new meaning to the expression, "Don't shit where you eat." 

"Although like I said, how do you expect to piss with that?" he focused on Sam again, whose boner hadn't gone down in the least. Damn, he could never stop himself from licking his lips and salivating over the tall, tense form. His brother was shifting back and forth on his feet, looking more desperate by the second. "You'll hit the ceiling instead of the john." Yeah and everything in between, no doubt. When he'd been twelve or thirteen, Dean had had a couple of such disconcerting occurrences, thanks to morning wood. Sam was more than twice that age and a neat freak; making that sort of mess wasn't an option. With his dick at full mast, though, it might be the only option. 

Then the shower stall in the corner caught Dean's eye. "Get naked and get in," he gestured at it to Sam, then strode over and cranked on the water. The pipes rattled like they hadn't been used in years, then spit cold water out in uneven gouts. Naturally, Sam threw him a look like he was insane. 

* * *

Had his brother lost his mind? Peeing in the shower was one thing, but Dean wasn't moving after turning the water on. After waiting for an agonizing – yes, his bladder was so full that he was quite literally in pain – few seconds Sam tried to stare Dean down, but all he got was a leer that made him wonder if his brother had _really_ lost his mind.

"What?" he sneered, reaching the end of his patience. "D'you wanna watch? Or maybe you want to hold it for me, too?"

* * *

Despite the tone of disgust, which Dean had fully expected, he plunged onward. After all, Sam had parried his suggestion, not entirely rebuffed him. "I'll take either. If you're up for it." Dean flicked his eyes at his brother's fly, which was about to rip its seams, and adjusted himself out of necessity. 

He let his voice drop an octave, a natural occurrence with so much testosterone rampaging through his body. The cold water on his hand had made his nipples tighten up and now his balls did likewise, out of anticipation. "I'll hold it anytime you want. Might be a little kinky even for us, but why not?" Dean shrugged, although considering some of the Internet porn he'd seen on the subject, this hardly counted. "It might be fun." 

* * *

"Well, thank you so much for your offer of holding 'it'. I'm afraid there won't be time for that, though," Sam groaned as he struggled with his zipper while stepping into the sorry excuse for a shower stall, hissing when the cold water hit his body.

* * *

Dean's eyebrows shot up at witnessing Sam step into the shower stall, clothes and all, fumbling with his zipper and now practically vibrating with need. Water soaked his shirt, plastering it to his chest – Sam's nipples were just as hard as ever these last couple weeks, if not more thanks to the cold. 

OK, so Dean could understand the need to go but not the need for Sam to ruin his boots, and where would they dry his clothes? Denim jeans would take hours. "Take your clothes off... now," he ordered in a stern voice. "In fact, get out of the shower and then take your clothes off. All of them." He looked around for towels, tossed two of the motel's undersized, thin offerings on the floor in front of the stall and closed his hand over his brother's. "Sammy..." he warned. "You're not a girl. You can hold 'it' till I can hold... 'it' for you." 

* * *

"No, you don't understand," Sam groaned. Couldn't Dean see that he really, _really_ had to go? That he was about to piss his pants, regardless of the impressive – even to his own eyes – hard-on he was sporting?

His brother was right, of course, that doing this clothed wasn't a good idea. Washing and drying wasn't an option in the sorry excuse for a motel and appearing on Bobby's doorstep in pee-soaked clothes... not a good idea either.

"Shit," Sam groaned as he bent down to unlace his boots, aware that Dean was watching him closely – and more than aware that Dean probably had the best view ever on his butt crack as Sam's jeans and briefs slipped down from the motion. Following orders, he stepped from the shower as he continued to struggle with his clothes.

"What?" Sam barked, his face beet-red by now, at the grinning – and drooling? – face of his brother. "Well, definitely not a girl," he muttered to himself.

* * *

After another astonished stare in Dean's direction, before he got much wetter, Sam backed out of the shower stall. He'd managed to finally unzip his pants and when he bent over with a pained groaned to untie his boot laces, Sam's jeans slid lower, lower, till a definite half-moon emerged. Any lower, at that angle, and Dean would be able to see his... 

Holy fuck, Dean was hard as nails now, too. He shrugged out of his jacket and flannel shirts. It was satisfying at a visceral level, that Sam responded to being bossed around for once. It was so out of character for him to just do what he was told without arguing and bitchfacing, Dean was going to soak up every second of it. Plus, that tight little ass peeked out, and then Sam, all flustered and jittery, stood up and practically posed like the male perfection he was. Sweat shone on his torso and temples, the scent diffusing the entire room with his unique honey-salt-bitter notes. Dean knew Sam needed to pee so bad his eyeballs had to be swimming. For some reason, that was getting Dean off, too. Only, he needed to touch, to participate in that release as well as any impending sexual release. 

"Nope, not a girl unless you have one hell of a Mega-clit," he retorted, grinning. "Not to mention, you have balls." Now that was stating the obvious. Those balls were drawn up, but any swelling and tightness there was far outshined by the purple, upswinging dick above, which he could see was drizzling pre-come, all the veins prominent like those in Sam's forearms. Sam was breathing heavily. His hands fisted at his sides, eyes wild, all fierce and deadly – if naked – hunter, and at the same time perfectly compliant. 

Losing the last of his own clothes, Dean approached his brother from behind. The water was finally starting to warm up a little, he could tell from the stray droplets hitting his skin, which might not help with shocking Sam's erection down enough for him to pee, but at least they wouldn't die of hypothermia. "Get back in the shower..."

As he jostled his brother forward, Dean body broke out in gooseflesh at the contact with all that warm skin. His dick wanted nothing more than to slide on home, to claim what was his. He settled with tucking it into the crease of Sam's buttcheeks. The rest of his body followed, pressing as much of them together as he could. In front of him, Sam was getting most of the water. He reached around Sam's hip, immediately grasping the pulsing, silk-over-steel erection. His instinct was to stroke it, but he held still. "You're so good for me, Sammy... waiting even though it hurts. You can let go now."

* * *

"Let go? No chance," Sam groaned. "No way I can pee with this." He nodded down to his straining erection. That men couldn't be hard and piss at the same time probably made sense in an evolutionary way but it also posed a problem for him right now. On the other hand, maybe the initially not so welcome presence of his brother held a solution to this particular problem.

"Dean," Sam moaned, "I need a little help, please. You've got to do something to get this hard-on down and I'm not talking about cold water."

* * *

"I gotta do something, huh?" Dean's moan matched Sam's. Arousal was burning in his veins now, and between his legs. His nose was right up under the long ends of Sam's damp hair, where the scent was the strongest; he wanted to thrust into him so bad, but no, not yet... he would take care of Sam first. "Shoulda known this might be a problem." Actually, Dean had sort of been counting on it. He tightened his grip around Sam's dick, fondling the long shaft in languid strokes. Sam was so hard that there was very little play to his foreskin, but Dean worked it up and back over the flared edge of the head. More profuse slick leaked from his slit, easing the friction of Dean's palm.

That Sam couldn't wait any longer was painfully obvious – his deep groans had to be audible to anyone within a quarter-mile radius. His hips jerked with every pass of Dean's fist up and down, the movements speeding faster and faster. Unable to hold still with his brother grinding back against his crotch, Dean shoved his erection against Sam's butt, thigh, whatever it came into contact with. The two of them writhed together under the water, short stuttered, agonized movements solely focused on making Sam _come,_ so he could _go_. 

Holding up his lover while he humped his hand, Dean slid his other arm around Sam's chest, seeking one of the taut buds he knew would, if touched, would give exponential pleasure. "There you go... that's right... do it, Sam," Dean gritted out. Then his hand brushed the nub and he gave it a pinch, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. 

* * *

_"Fuuck!"_ Sam usually reserved swearwords for special occasions but his current situation more than warranted using one. Jeez, he was so close! After their first fulminant romp at the Roadhouse, they'd refrained from having sex and the more time Sam had spent with Dean in the close confines of the Impala, the more he'd felt that by now his eyeballs must be swimming in jizz, but nope, relief wouldn't come, not even by Dean's hands.

"Dean," Sam was so pent up that he almost screeched, "please, I've gotta feel you in me now!"

* * *

"Gotta be in you," Dean groaned, only to realize that neither he nor Sam had brought the lube into the shower in their haste. "Shit, gotta get the slick." This was one the few times he wished that Sam had female parts, so he could just give into instinct and ram it home. That one off-limits night Sam had been a girl, somehow. Most of the time Dean was more than happy with boy-Sam. He was just so frustrated, knowing he had to stretch and prep that hole or seriously hurt his brother. 

Hopping out from under the water and leaving puddles in his wake, Dean rustled through the clothes he'd dropped, finding the bottle in his jacket pocket. "Got it!" he crowed in triumph. Two steps later he was back behind Sam, handful of lube and reaching for his ass. "Spread your legs for me..." 

* * *

"Oh no," Sam whined when Dean suddenly withdrew his hand and left him alone in the stall. "Please tell me that the 'slick' wasn't left behind in the Impala!" Of course, there was no courtesy conditioner in a rundown place like this. If they'd be as badly prepared during their hunts as they were for sex, they'd have been killed ages ago, he thought to himself. The next thought was a stupid one, whether one could actually die from unfulfilled desire during the time it took to find suitable lubricant, but it was thankfully cut short by Dean's triumphant outcry. Not even Hannibal could have sounded any happier when he crossed the Alps...

Before Sam could reply, Dean was back, behind him and reaching between his legs from behind. Sam spread his legs before he was actually asked to, and immediately, he felt Dean's fingers nudge his entrance. Sam hissed when two of them entered him, but it was a reaction to the cold lube rather than pain or surprise. He knew that it made sense for Dean to prep him as it had been a while, still...

"Please hurry up," he panted. "I need you so bad!"

* * *

Sam's feet slid out to the sides, to the edges of the narrow shower stall, and Dean, needing to reestablish contact with his brother's skin, went to work. They hadn't been doing this long, having male-on-male sex, but already the process of opening Sam up was almost second nature. Dean started with two well-oiled fingers. Since Sam was already begging him to hurry, he obliged by breaching the tight outer guardian ring with the pair of digits, working them into the tight heat with spiraling wrist motions and pressure. Sam moaned but pushed back against him, all the muscles of his back rippling as he arched. 

"Fuck, you can take it," Dean murmured while he wiggled in his ring finger, voice laden with admiration along with white-hot lust. "Love how much you need me, want me." His heart was racing, pulse thundering in his chest and head and belly and groin. Suddenly he couldn't wait anymore, either, not with the long tease across days and miles, and not with the curves and valley of Sam's ass just inches from his dick. The entrance was more than obvious, three fingers shiny with slick moving in and out.

"Gotta be in you now..." Dean pulled his fingers free, smeared the excess lube on his impatient erection, lined himself up and grasped Sam's hip for leverage. He let his body do what it knew best, pelvis pushing forward and upward to power him through the first clinch, further and further in with each thrust. He couldn't wait, had to move. Now he was moaning, too, because every slide of his cock and of his chest against Sam's back, their thighs brushing was all the purest pleasure. This was gonna be fast and dirty, exactly what the situation called for, they could indulge in sensuality later. 

For the second time in five minutes, Dean reached around and wrapped his hand around Sam's leaking dick. His brother was, maybe impossibly, harder than before. Bigger, more upright-pointing, his always-heavy stones pulled up close in their sac. Dean had to stroke it, he couldn't _not_ stroke the counterpart to what he was currently rutting into Sam with while he set the speeding rhythm from behind. "You're gonna come for me, Sammy," he growled. "You need to get off, and then you're gonna piss while I'm still fucking you..." 

* * *

Dean slid home, finally, and Sam cried out from the sensation of being filled, stretched to the brink, and so incredibly full. "Yes, I can take it," he grunted, pushing back and urging Dean to go deeper yet. Then, his brother's strong, calloused hand wrapped around his dick and started working him rough and fast. 

"Fuck, yes!" Trapped between Dean's dick and hand, it took Sam a moment to figure out when to thrust forward and when to push back, but once he went with Dean's rhythm, he knew that this would be a short affair. Already, he felt his balls draw closer to his body, preparing to spew their load – and what a load it would be!

Just when he was taking a final shuddering breath before the ascent to the ultimate edge, Dean's next words caught him by... no, surprise wasn't the right word, but Sam's brain was unable to provide a suitable term. He was so close and did Dean really just say that... that... His brain stuttered again as Sam's hips snapped forward, pushed by a deep thrust from behind... that he was supposed to piss while Dean was still fucking him? It was... it should be sick, but for some reason – rampant hormones? pure and unabashed lust? extreme horniness? – Sam suddenly found the concept extremely arousing.

"Yes," he screeched. "I'mma cum and than I'm gonna..." The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a choked scream when his balls shut his brain up and Sam came so hard that it made his knees buckle. "Fuuck, Deannnnnhhhh....!"

* * *

Even if he'd wanted to, Dean couldn't have slowed down. He shoved into Sam as far as he could push, savored the slide out, in again, push, pull, thrust. Sam moved with him, their balls slapping together, bodies colliding. Then the moans changed to screeches fit to raise the roof as Sam unloaded all over his own belly and chest, the shower wall in front of him and Dean's furiously stoking fist, spurts flying everywhere like a shotgun blast. The rhythmic spasms of Sam's hole as he came gripped Dean so hard that Dean had to slow down or suffer injury to a part of him he never wanted to hurt, other than like it did now, from being so aroused and pent-up too fucking long. 

"'s right, Sammy... y'needed to come so bad..." And so did Dean. Somehow, he managed to grit his teeth and not blow his load yet. No doubt Sam would need a minute before his inner plumbing rearranged itself so he could... and then Dean would literally fuck the piss out of him. Why he found this to be the pinnacle of hotness all of a sudden he couldn't say, as if he could say anything besides Sam's name and "oh god" and a few choice obscenities with his orgasm building in his swollen balls and low in his spine. Dean shifted his feet forward and leaned directly against Sam's back, rooting around with his hips trying to find Sam's prostate. Not sure if it would help or hinder the process, all the prodding in the general region of Sam's bladder was sure to have some effect. He hadn't let go of his brother's hefty dick, either, which was still at least half hard. Imagining Sam's eyes tearing up with his extreme need to go, the first few golden drops dribbling from the slit still smeared white was like the most erotic kick to the jewels ever. Pre-come spurted from Dean, so much he almost though he'd lost control, but he didn't, no, even though he was shaking with the need to. "Go on, Sam... you can let go now, it's okay..." he panted. 

* * *

"Shit, Dean..." Sam groaned when the ringing in his ears lowered to a level where he could actually hear his brother's grunts and moans. Undoubtedly, Dean was close, but why didn't he...

It hit Sam like a blow with a hammer that his brother might have meant what he'd said, that he wanted Sam to piss while he was still fucking him. It was so wrong, and yet...

Not that it really mattered: Sam's bladder was so full that his sphincter would give any second now, and what with the additional pressure on his prostate, there was no way he'd be able to _not_ piss, regardless of what his mind had to say about this act.

His dick was still covered in thick cum, pointing upward and far from softening, but he couldn't hold back any longer. As he felt the first trickle work its way through his still constricted urethra, Sam's eyes teared up from relief. Impossibly, Dean's cock thickened inside him – was he turned on by watching Sam pee? – which increased the output from mere droplets to a steadying flow.

Sam had always found it pleasant, if in a weird fashion, to empty his bladder. He'd always thought it was nothing more than relief at letting go, but now he found that he enjoyed... this... on another... and somewhat maybe a little scary level. However, as long as he was with Dean – and it had been Dean's prompting that had initiated... this...

Dean was still holding Sam's semi-erection in his hand when Sam's eyes fell on it. 

"You like that, don't you?" Sam whispered hoarsely. "Go on, then, play with me..."

* * *

Probably unable to resist the call of nature any longer, Sam gave in. Dean could feel it, in the thrum of liquid flowing through Sam's dick which he still held, though he couldn't see much. The ammonia-like tang tickled his nose. He could hear, too: Sam's unintended groan at the relief followed by his invitation to play, and the splatter of the strong stream hitting plastic. Intent on experiencing every second of this... gift, Dean slowed down, notched himself in deep and rocked his hips against Sam's ass while his brother pissed. Intermittently, Sam shifted inside, like he was bearing down.

"So much, so much, Sammy..." Dean rasped in response to whether he liked what they were doing, as well as commentary about the quantity. Maybe it was a sympathetic response, but Dean's groin tingled and he'd swear pre-cum was running from him. If he'd thought he was hard as nails before, his dick was beginning to feel over-full, rigid with blood from root to tip and somehow still getting stuffed fuller yet by his own response to this should-be-gross but ridiculously hot little play-out. He let go of Sam's hipbone and reached lower, inching his forefinger into the spray that burgeoned from Sam's slit. The force of it was more than he expected, but then he'd never done that before, and warmer even than jizz. Still slowly stroking – much more lightly – the other hand up and down the length of Sam's penis, he hummed in appreciation and kissed his brother's shoulder while he peed against Dean's fingers, then his palm. 

* * *

It went on forever: Sam peed and peed and peed. He had no idea where all the fluid came from, but once he could finally let go, there seemed to be no end. To his surprise, he even kept on peeing although he was still half-hard, and Dean continuing to stroke him made sure his dick didn't soften. What surprised him even more was that having his prostate stimulated while pissing was so... incredible that it made him groan and grunt. He wondered if he could cum again although his balls felt wrung out – and could one actually orgasm without a proper erection?

Sam's thoughts were interrupted when Dean held his finger in the warm stream, then pressed his fingertip against Sam's slit, damming the flood a little it first, then it shot out with more pressure and Sam cried out with the sensation. Right then, Dean increased the frequency and intensity of his thrusts; apparently he was getting close, and Sam suddenly felt a little guilty that he'd found relief and his brother hadn't. 

Yet.

"Dean," Sam gasped, "I want you to cum in me, fill me with your cream, and then..." He swallowed, lust taking over again, "I'mma cum again, too..."

* * *

Hearing the words of Sam begging to be filled, Dean let go of any restraint. He plastered himself against Sam's back so his nipples, diamond-pink little nodes, scraped the sweat-and-water wet skin, and pounded into his brother. His last few brain cells processed the never-ending stream of pee, how Sam barely softened but continued to drain. Every time Dean dammed the stream and let it flow again, the pained sounds that followed would've scared anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with Sam's sex noises. 

Before Sam came, the idea of interrupting the aftershocks of his orgasm with a flood of uncontrolled pissing had given Dean a rush like no fantasy had in years. Now the opposite danced into his head, of Sam's need to come again cutting off the water works. "Fuck..." Dean moaned, "wanna do that... gonna fill you..." No man would be able to resist the filthy encouragement of his jizz being the end-all in stimulation. Now that he knew his eruption wouldn't be curtailed by anything, Dean thrust in short, quick jabs, feeling like some animal mating in the wild, but also so in love with his incredible brother who had encouraged his kinkiest idea to date to come out to play. 

Both sensations, the explosion of cream from his balls and the infusion of endorphins overwhelmed Dean as he rutted through the first spurts gasping, "Come for me, Sammy, come with me, I love you so much..." His own come packed in around his dick and he slid faster. "Unnnnnnngh!" Dean didn't usually get loud during sex thanks to years of being furtive, not like his screamer of a brother. His release, in keeping with the animalistic fucking, made him growl, groan, or maybe both from deep in his chest. Practically cross-eyed from the intensity, Dean gulped in much-needed air. He'd emptied himself till he was swimming in it, but in seconds he focused on Sam once again, who was vibrating with what he assumed was the need to get off. "Tell me what you need..." 

* * *

Once Sam had said the word, it took Dean only a few seconds to finish: Two, three thrusts and he was there. Sam's eyes widened when Dean's erection thickened inside him and then Dean slid in more than the lube. Sam smiled briefly before his face contorted when the suddenly more slippery moves of his brother deep inside him hit his pleasure center dead on.

"Fuck, yeah," he pressed out. _"That's_ what I need!" Sam's dick reacted immediately to the pummeling of his prostate. Rigid again, the shaft effectively cut off the weakened but by no means ceased stream of pee, and Sam felt his balls draw up in preparation to release yet another load.

"Just keep going, please, Dean," he begged, and why did his voice sound so whiny? "Please don't stop, need it so bad, Dean, please..."

* * *

Of the two of them, it was Sam who softened more gradually after he came, versus Dean who went limp as soon as he finished. Today though, hearing the pleas to keep going and willingly trapped by the tight grip of Sam's hole effectively stopping the reverse blood flow, Dean stayed hard enough to keep going. He was totally oversensitive, hyper-aware of heat, slick, the clench, quivering violently and jabbing at the slight bump inside Sam he knew was part of the key to his pleasure but hadn't been able to discern with a raging hard-on, before. "Come on... you gotta come..." 

Sam stopped pissing and his balls pulled up like two about-to-burst plums against the side of Dean's fist. It had to be agony, all that desperation making his inner tubing play switch-track again and again. "Yer whinin' like a little bitch, Sammy, my little bitch," rolled out of Dean's slack lips. Aware that his brother, who tensed, might turn around and clock him if he didn't do something quick, Dean rocked in and out, then whipped the fingers not occupied with dick up to Sam's chest once again, pinching the erect and swollen nub he found almost as easily as he would, his own. "Got a nipple-cock connection, I know you do..." He pinched harder. "Gonna make you come from this one of these days." 

Regrettably, he wasn't fourteen or even twenty any longer, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he would go too soft to keep this up. He was getting a little frantic. His mind flashed to what he could try. Fingers wouldn't feel like anything good after a proper reaming. They didn't have any toys, as far as he knew. Sam's ass was primed, he had to keep up the intensity. "Want me to eat out this sloppy hole?" The words were out before he finished the thought. 

* * *

The impulse to break Dean's nose for calling him a 'little bitch' was definitely there, but only for less than a second: As long as Dean continued fucking him, Sam would let his brother get away with anything. Then Dean pinched his nipple, which resulted in tears forming in Sam's eyes as well as notching up his arousal yet another impossible step. When Dean applied more pressure to the oversensitive nub along with offering to eat him out, Sam cried out in pain and ecstasy.

"T-too late," he screeched, and the floodgate that had trapped what felt like another gallon of spunk in his close-to-bursting balls opened. The orgasm hit him so hard that Sam couldn't even scream; it was like a punch to his solar plexus – of the quality he and Dean would deliver – that made even breathing impossible.

While he spasmed and shuddered through his second release, Sam felt like a rag doll impaled on Dean's cock that was, also impossibly, still hard enough to fulfill this deep, insatiable need. 

"Hold me?" Sam finally managed to press out when the climax abated and he sagged back against Dean's chest, not sure if his legs would give out immediately or if he had another few seconds to slide down onto the shower floor. "Shit, man, that was..."

* * *

"Yeah... that was..." Words failed Dean, too. Somehow, Sam had got a second climax out of it – Dean had felt the surge of stickiness on his fingers and the renewed pulsing around him inside – and as well he should, as much as they'd both worked for it. Neither of them were going to stay upright much longer; Sam sagged against Dean's chest and not one of their four collective legs was anything less than shaky. As much as he loved the thought of Sam hanging off his dick, Dean's wishes were removed from the equation when the appendage went limp and slid free with an embarrassing slurping sound.

Rather than apologize for what was, after all, normal for a thirty-something man, Dean concentrated on not falling over while holding Sam up. The powers that be chose that moment for the motel's water heater's reserves to expire and douse them in freezing cold spray. "Shit! Shit!" While Dean had taken plenty of cold showers in his life, he never really got used to it. Backing out of the stall, holding Sam's boneless body in front of him with one arm, Dean cast about for towels. One, he'd thrown down earlier and they were standing on it. Good thing too, as the floor was nasty, cracked linoleum. That left one pathetic excuse, which Dean grabbed and patted against Sam's heaving torso. 

* * *

Warm and flushed from coming hard twice in a row, Sam sighed against Dean's chest, wincing briefly when Dean's dick slipped out of him – followed by a rush of sticky fluid. It made Sam smile how much Dean had cum inside him. However, the smile was immediately wiped off his face when the inevitable happened and the hot water ran out. Then again, he thought as he quickly washed away the mess and followed Dean out of the stall on shaky legs, it was a miracle that the cold hadn't won much earlier already.

Dean started mopping water from Sam's chest with a threadbare towel that was instantly soaked. He looked apologetic but it wasn't their fault that the cheap motel provided even cheaper towels.

"We'll never get dry with these," Sam pointed out. "Let's lie down for a minute and let the sheets take care of the water. I could do with a nap and we're in no hurry. Bobby isn't there anyway, so..." Predictably, the thought of a quick nap triggered a yawn.

"So. Bed?"

* * *

"Yeah, b-" Seeing Sam yawn immediately set Dean off with the same, and he cut himself off mid-word with it. So much for the two-backed beast being a euphemism for sex – that's what they did now, stumbling and slipping in the puddles that dripped off of their bodies and from Sam's hair toward the bed while holding on to each other, both for balance and because they didn't want to give up contact for even a second. Or, that's how Dean felt – like an addict. He'd always been a tactile creature, and right now he wasn't willing to take his hands off Sam. One arm around his brother's waist brought the touch of the side of him, part of his chest, his legs in the awkward search for equilibrium. It didn't have to be Sam's junk in his hand to satisfy Dean – although he was plenty satisfied for the moment. 

The sudden change from warm water to frigid had risen gooseflesh; by the time they made it to the bed, Sam had started to shiver. Dean fumbled one-handedly with the bedclothes and managed to get the bedspread, blanket and top sheet thrown back. "Alright, Sam, get in and pray there's no bedbugs... let's dry you off between the sheets," he quipped. 

* * *

"Bedbugs? Brrrr," Sam quipped back, then grimaced. "I can't believe I said that. I mean we fight monsters every day and here I am whining about insects. Please tell me I'm not really turning into a girl!" He wiggled his body between the sheets and yawned again. "Although maybe you wouldn't mind me being a girl from time to time," he mused.

"Dean." Sam looked at his brother openly. "Back then... I never told you... but that was actually among the... best sex I ever had in my life..." He blushed, then took a deep breath. "Anyway, let's catch a few z's now before we move on to Bobby's."

* * *

Since he'd been old enough to understand the meaning, if in a juvenile manner, Dean had teased Sam for being 'a girl'. The night Sam's body had taken female form – if indeed it had been real and not some elaborately-staged hallucination by parties unknown – had been the only time Dean had truly considered Sam 'a girl' for all his endless ribbing, and even then he'd questioned whether the person with him had been his brother or his sister, because the body had changed but Sam had still been Sam. 

He couldn't deny that the sex had been incredible. Since he'd had years of experience in hetero sex, Dean had to be honest and admit he had refined his skills at it much more than the male-on-male variety he and Sam were having now. Still, though he knew that Sam didn't mean it that way – did he? – it still stung a bit. He got under the covers and stretched out next to Sam's long form to gather the right words. "Considering your... condition, it's possible you're gonna become more of a girl in the next few months. Hormone-wise, for sure." He rolled onto his side facing Sam, sliding a hand across his chest to brush lightly over the swollen areolas. "And these. Love these... and love you," he murmured. Dean's face felt warm. Yeah, they said all kinds of things in bed, said them loudly. This was different; he was saying it with his heart rather than his balls and Dean wondered if he'd ever have any level of comfort with that. 

It was something else, that had changed Sam's nipples. He trailed his hand down the midline of the sculpted torso, stopping below Sam's navel. "This, too." 

* * *

Sam moaned when Dean stroked his nipples. There was no doubt that they were hypersensitive, aching most of the time by even the lightest brush of his shirt, however, Dean's fingers caused quite another sensation. Dean had already suggested that one day he'd make Sam cum from playing with his nipples and not touching his dick, and Sam couldn't wait for that to happen – the heightened sensitivity being the one thing he could maybe come to appreciate about his state.

His state. State implying stationary, Sam thought, but the opposite was happening: he was growing bigger with every day. At least that's what it felt like. He wasn't even sure if he was showing yet, but he felt bloated. And... Suddenly, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. What if he developed... boobs?

"Um, Dean," he began in a shaky voice. "You said you love these," he pointed his chin down at his chest. "I love it when you touch them, but... did you get the impression that they've been... um... that they've... well... _expanded_ recently?"

* * *

"Hmmm..." Sam seemed more preoccupied with his chest, and Dean was willing to humor him. That beat Dean's own momentary flurry of insecurity. Raising his head a little, Dean examined his brother's pecs. Visually, he couldn't see much difference to anything but his nipples, which they'd already discussed, if more by action than words. The areolas had expanded, bordering on puffy, and the inner peaks were constantly hard, darker, sticking up like pencil erasers. Between their appearance and Sam's irritation at the pain and distraction of them, he hadn't really noticed anything else. 

The broad expanse of bone, muscle and skin looked, he didn't even know the right word. Curvier? But barely. Sam had always had well-defined pecs. "Have you been doing more pull-ups behind my back?" Dean asked. That was ridiculous, considering they'd been in each other's presence almost continuously. The only way Sam could have done extra calisthenics would have been while Dean was in the shower or out on a coffee, food, or beer run. "It's barely noticeable," he quickly added. "Not like boobs. You can't grow boobs, not with this..." 

He still couldn't get over the fact that Sam had chest chair. Not a lot, not like their furry beast of a father, but still. Dean was the elder and his torso was hairless, other than the dark-blond line below his navel. He also wasn't anywhere near as ripped as his brother, however long that lasted. The last thing he wanted to, though, was make Sam feel bad with a careless comment. "Well, it would be weird, but if you do, you do, I guess. You'll just have to wear another layer. Hey, did you know some Asian women wear these... round band-aid like things on their nipples to keep them from poking through their shirts?" Not really thinking, Dean found himself petting the heart-shaped patch of sparse hairs over Sam's sternum. 

* * *

Shit. Barely noticeable? But Dean had noticed, obviously. And he was suggesting those... things... some chicks wore to hide their nipples... Shit. Sam found himself beginning to panic. "I don't want to have to hide my nipples," he exclaimed. "And I don't want to wear another layer either. I just want to be myself. My _male_ self. No boobs, no curves, no nothing, just myself," he choked out.

"Dean." Sam felt stupid, as if he could ask his older brother to just make everything go away, which, of course, wouldn't work. "I never asked for his to happen, and neither did you," he hurried to add. "I'm... kinda... terrified," he admitted the obvious, "but..." he took a deep breath. "do you, erm, find it... _me,_ that is... hot?"

* * *

"Of course I think you're hot... smoking hot!" Dean could barely believe what he was hearing. Not the parts about Sam being upset about the changes in his body, or terrified over what would happen in the next few months. He knew that feeling all too well. But that Dean would be put off by his brother's physique? Not a chance. 

Discussing their attractiveness came easier than the alternative. "I mean...You think that I'm hot, right?" That was pretty much a rhetorical question. "Sam. I was trying to be helpful. You sounded insecure. About your body. Hell, if you wanna go around shirtless and show off your," no, he wasn't going to refer to them as 'boobs', "uh, what you've got going on there, that's fine. Or not. Your choice." 

True, he couldn't really imagine what it was doing to Sam's psyche. "It's temporary. You'll have your 100% male body back... after. You still have that ass, Sammy," Dean purred. "I should build a shrine to it. Then there's your porn-star junk." The moment he described Sam's equipment, Dean realized he was fondling it, encouraged by the twitches under his hand. Despite the incredible, fantasy-fueled sex just minutes before, his dick was trying to chub up, too. "But it's not just that," he went on. "There's your lips, soft, but the way you snarl when you're gonna come..." Dean rolled on top of Sam and nudged his knees wider to accommodate him. "Whatever happens, I'm with you," he leaned down and kissed Sam, watching his face. "I won't ever," Dean tilted his head the other way and kissed Sam again, while he rolled his hips, "stop wanting you." 

* * *

"Neither will I," Sam said, "ever stop wanting you. It's just, I'm not sure I want myself. My body... it just doesn't feel right. Maybe that's even the same for pregnant women, but at least they grow up with the concept of being able to conceive, whereas I..." He shook his head. "It's still freaking me out, man."

Sighing when Dean moved on top of him, Sam forced himself to relax. His brother's weight was reassuring, grounding him. "If not for you looking after me, I'd have lost it. I couldn't..." A sound that he immediately recognized as Dean's 'other' phone ringing interrupted what he was about to say, that he couldn't do this without Dean.

"You wanna get that?" 

* * *

Though he'd never mention it, it sounded as if Sam were reassuring Dean as much as he, by actions or simply his presence, reassured Sam. Dean registered this, tucked it away in his memories, but before he could do anything further with his naked brother, one of his phones rang. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Dean answered a brief, "Yeah," to Sam's request he answer it. It was usually a bad idea to ignore hunter communications, and they were waiting on a call back from Bobby. 

Though he didn't want to, Dean got out of bed, settled the covers back over Sam, and went over to rummage through his clothes while the phone rang three more times. It was a generic tweet and not the heavy metal guitar riff of his main phone, and he haphazardly decided to change it one of these days. "Hello?" he answered just before it went to voice mail. 

He'd been right. It was Bobby, asking in his usual brusque manner what sort of trouble they'd managed to get themselves into this time. "Well, it's Sam who's in trouble," he said, scratching the back of his neck. Then he realized what's he'd just said, and stammered, "Uh, I mean... why, why don't... um, here, talk to Sam!" 

Stepping back over to the bed, he held out the phone. His brother didn't look too pleased at Dean's slip.

* * *

Dean gave him the stink-eye but answered the call. As expected, it was Bobby. Sam snorted when Dean pointed out that it wasn't him but Sam who was in trouble, then accepted the phone.

"Hey, Bobby," he greeted the older hunter while returning the stink-eye to his brother. "Actually, what Dean said is right," Sam hurried to say before Bobby could ask. "I'm the one in trouble, but Dean certainly had a part in getting me there. I'm pregnant," he announced before his brain could stop him. Best to get it over with, he thought.

"Excuse me," he heard Bobby's voice after a few seconds of silence. "But I think I need to scrub my ears out. See, I thought I just heard you say that you're pregnant."

More silence ensued, this time from Sam's side.

"Uhm, er, yes," he stammered eventually. He still thought Bobby had a right to know what was about to turn up on his doorstep, but did it have to be so awkward? They were hunters and as such used to all kinds of weird and supernatural things happening to them – and to them as Winchesters in particular – so he'd somehow hoped that a pregnancy that went against all natural laws wouldn't lead to much more than a raised eyebrow from Bobby: if anyone had seen it all, it was their old friend and at times substitute father.

Apparently, this wasn't the case. Sam gulped and spoke anew. "Well, yeah, that's it, basically. And since you didn't ask, Dean is the father." He glared at his brother for leaving it to him to explain. Dean raised his hands in a placating gesture and Sam sighed. Bobby still hadn't said a word. Apparently, some things surprised even him.

"So, to make it short," Sam continued. "We're on our way to your place. Should be there in a few hours, give or take. You _are_ in Sioux Falls, are you?" he asked belatedly. Why hadn't it occurred to them that Bobby may be thousands of miles away from his home?

"I am," came the grudging-sounding reply. "Although in a few hours I'll probably wish I wasn't. Anyway, we can talk later. See you guys then. Oh, and for the record, I don't stock pickles and ice cream, and I don't intend to go shopping. Just making sure you know what to _not_ expect."

"Um, yeah, fair enough. Later, then." Bobby hung up and Sam pressed the end-call button, then held the phone out to Dean.

"I guess that could have gone worse."

* * *

The call went... there was no yelling, and no one got hung up on. In Dean's book, that was good. While Sam threw him a couple more dirty looks for leaving to him to explain, his brother didn't see too pissed off about it. 

He agreed, "No, not bad. I just hope Bobby's not saving it for later. I guess he's at home...? What did he say?" 

Obviously there wasn't going to be any more nookie. And probably not for some time either, while they were at Bobby's, not when he was around anyway. Dean knew he should be satisfied. Sam had come twice and he himself had been indulged with one of his most prized fantasies. He just... never got enough, it seemed. All those years of wanting Sam but not daring to speak its name had finally ended in a conflagration of sex, not just sex-for-the-sake-of it but a series loving, soul-bonding, sensual experience like Dean had craved since he'd been old enough to know what his dick was for. But, he also was a thinking, at least semi-logical man, a man who started pulling dry clothes from his duffel and then onto his body.

* * *

When Dean started putting clothes on, Sam frowned. "Hey, what happened to nap time?" he asked. "Or maybe we could make that snuggle time. Now that you've made all these nice comments about how much you like my body and that you'll never stop wanting me, I kinda want you to want me. As in now."

He looked at his brother expectantly. "Once we're at Bobby's place, things are likely to get awkward, so maybe we should make the best of our time here. I didn't say exactly when we'd arrive, did I? So." He held up the blanket in invitation for Dean to join him.

"Besides," Sam grinned, "I can't stay in this bed alone. You need to protect me from the bedbugs you mentioned."

* * *

"Oh." Sam hadn't moved from the bed. Assuming he would as soon as the call ended, Dean was surprised to hear that Sam had other ideas. "Alright, then." He padded over to the bed, pulling his tee-shirt off over his head. "You know I don't cuddle," they both knew he was lying through his teeth, "but a nap still sounds good." 

Next to the bed, Dean pushed his jeans, which he hadn't bothered to zip, and his boxers down his legs. "There better not be any bedbugs, not for real. Remember that one time in Bumfuck, Arkansas, when I was what? Fourteen? When Dad made us burn all our clothes and what little we had for blankets, just in case?" He slid under the covers that Sam held up for him, relaxing into the slightly damp warmth and the soft-over-hard of his brother's long limbs. "Thought I'd never stop itching from those bites." 

The memory was making Dean itch in the present; he squirmed against Sam and reached to scratch the back of his thigh. Sighing in relief, he tried to settle down. After the sex, he really was in need of at least an hour or two of sleep. "Turn over and be the little spoon, Sam," he said. 

* * *

"Oh yeah, Bumfuck Arkansas," Sam rolled his eyes while Dean slipped out of his shirt and joined him in bed. "You were so lucky Dad wasn't aware that you'd started growing pubic hair. He'd have insisted on shaving you, had he known." 

Dean moved in behind him and Sam blushed, relieved that Dean couldn't see his flushed face. He'd come twice already, so why was he hard again at the memory? "And since now you're going to ask how _I_ knew, I was merely curious. Older brother and all. I... was getting my first erections at the time and, well, wondered if it was just me. So I kept watching you. Sometimes even when you..." 

He coughed. "Well, you can guess. And I discovered that, no, I wasn't the only one, so that was it." Only it hadn't been. Watching Dean play with himself had been disturbingly arousing back at the time, but that wasn't something Sam was ready to divulge.

* * *

It had been much too easy to get Sam to turn around. And, he seemed to be deliberately keeping his face away. Dean's ears perked up at the mention of his brother's memories, and how they went beyond the annoying bout with parasites and their dad's idea of how to handle it. "One would have thought he'd have known – I was fourteen, after all. Sprouted hair when I was not quite thirteen. But then, he always did treat us like little kids who were none-the-less expected to babysit themselves," Dean reflected. 

Noticing his voice had grown bitter, he turned to teasing Sam instead. "I'll bet, 'merely curious'. You watched me beat off, huh?" It should be icky, thinking of Sam observing him at that age. Ten was just so damned young. He'd gotten boners then, too, but not what he considered real ones now. They'd usually gone down on their own, not like how it had been for him a year or two after that. "You must have been too young to spooge then... so, did watching me satisfy your curiosity?" he whispered into the fine hairs on the back of Sam's neck, behind his ear. "Hm? Were you jealous of my pubes? Did you wish you were as big as me? I can just see little Sammy with his big eyes and a bulge in his pants that he didn't know what to about." 

Yeah, Dean could remember that feeling too, like his dick was huge and his stones were swollen and over-full. The sensation of coming and especially of shooting every drop of semen out of his balls till they were wrung out was like nothing else. His eyes had told him his physical proportions were within normal, if generous, limits for a young teen at the time, but the towering pleasure of it had driven him to reach for the sensation almost daily. Well, that and to keep the wet dreams at a minimum. And so he wouldn't pop wood at inopportune times, although he did anyway. Still did sometimes. And now. Groaning, Dean pressed his hardening dick against Sam's ass.

* * *

"Yeah," Sam admitted with burning ears to Dean's question if he'd watched him beating off back then. "And I was jealous. Not only of your pubes and, um, size, but also because you seemed to enjoy it a lot. And even more because you could shoot."

He paused, hesitated. "You know, I was always the youngest in my class and there were a couple guys who bragged that they could shoot by the age of eight. I thought I was, dunno, somehow deficient. So I kept watching you and then I tried to copy what you did, only I could never, well, finish. That only worked much later." Sam shook his head at the memory of his younger self. "I was indeed little Sammy with a bulge in his pants that he didn't know what to about."

"Well," he turned half-way around to grin at Dean. "I certainly know what to do about that kind of thing now. Speaking of which, not sure I can cum again, but I have a few ideas what to do about _that."_ He wiggled his ass against his brother's erection. "Curious?" He leered.

* * *

Apparently Sam was horny again, too, because he ground his butt against Dean's crotch. Dean's breathing quickened, and he tightened his hold around Sam's waist to move with him. "Yeah, definitely. I'll bet I can coax another out of you. If you're not too sore, I'll fuck that sweet ass and rub that sweet spot of yours inside... won't matter if your balls are empty, you'll still be dripping come... or I could use my mouth on you..." 

How or where exactly he'd apply his lips and tongue, Dean left deliberately non-specific. He was getting that sensation of flying again while his belly flip-flopped, even while lying down. Sam's skin was wonderfully soft and warm, but at the same time, his – pregnant – brother was all man. "Whoever bragged they could shoot when they were eight was a liar. I was an early bloomer and I didn't till right before I turned twelve. But you... whatever age you started, I've never seen so much." His hand stole lower to find Sam's semi-erection, grasping the heft of it, his mouth and dick salivating over getting to touch. "You getting wood for me now, just like then...?"

* * *

"Uh, I'm not sure if even you could make me come again," Sam cringed a little, "at least not right now. And thanks for the compliment, but what you call wood... Well, it isn't limp pasta, but... I'm not a teen any longer. What I meant was that I'd see what I can do with _your_ wood." Yes, what Dean was pressing against his butt definitely counted as wood.

"I'd take my time with you, and when I'm done, maybe I'll be up for another round." Sam grinned. "Only, if I do it right, you'll be too wiped out to do me again."

* * *

"If that's what you call a 'not quite limp noodle', I'll consider eating pasta my full-time job. After hunting, of course," Dean offered. "Later. Too soon for me to be touching you there again quite yet, huh?" He let his hand fall away from it's grip; he'd felt Sam's tense shudder, which was prompt enough for him to let up. So, no-go on actual sex, and no oral yet. Dean was tempted to say forget it and just sleep. The thing between his legs said otherwise. 

Slithering downward, Dean kissed across the expanse of Sam's shoulders, licking at the random sprinkles of moles and scattered scars over the scapulae. "Mm, fresh out of the shower... taste good..." Their focus hadn't exactly been on washing, but they'd been fairly non-toxic to begin with and Sam had taken the brunt of the water. The flavor of Sam's skin was distinctly salty, given how much he sweated. At the moment, the saltiness had been diluted. It was like Dean was chasing it now, couldn't stop, each pass of his tongue over the contours of Sam's musculature leading him down, down... he counted each vertebra with the press of his lips, each rib with a swipe of tongue. 

As he reached Sam's sacral dimples and the faint, long scar he always pretended didn't exist, Dean heard gasping, whining pleas from above. Other than a few cut-short writhes, Sam had been still, hadn't rolled from his side. Dean's voice growled out of his throat, "Gonna eat you out, Sammy. Get on your knees for me."

* * *

Sam moaned softly when Dean began to kiss and lick down his back, but when Dean announced that he'd eat him out, Sam knew he couldn't deliver.

"Sorry, man, but I meant what I said. I _may_ be ready for another round once I've taken my time making you happy," Sam grinned, "but right now, my limp noodle is as useless as, well, a limp noodle, and my ass needs a break. Talk about being out of practice," he groaned. 

"And having said that, what can I do for _you_ now?"

* * *

Apparently, Sam really wasn't into it. Dean froze, half-way between hurt and relieved. "Um..." 

Did he really want to switch gears now? It felt a bit like dropping the tranny. He flopped onto his back, his hard-on slapping him on the lower belly. "Blowjob?" 

* * *

"Definitely," Sam said. "I'll blow you and I'll take my time so I can get ready for another round." He looked his brother's body up and down. Dean was laid out like a feast before him, hard and leaking, eyes wide with arousal.

Sam moved down the bed so he was comfortable with his head at Dean's crotch and inhaled the musky scent. It made his nostrils flare and his dick twitch, but he really needed another minute until he could shoot again. The desire was there, the capability, not so much.

Dean's cut dick was so unlike his own, Sam thought. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to not have foreskin. Maybe washing would be a little easier. Then again, he had to admit that sliding the thing back and forth while he washed was actually quite pleasant. 

Sam could almost hear Dean's impatience grow, so he gave the tip a few gentle licks before lapping at the fluid that kept leaking from the slit. "Mmh," he groaned. "I'mma suck you dry, Dean," Sam announced and immediately started to make true on his promise, alternating between taking Dean deep into his throat and swallowing around the glans and sucking hard on the tip.

"Love this," he murmured when he had to let go for a second to catch his breath. "This and all of you."

* * *

No doubt about it: Sam was going to take his time, probably giving Dean heart failure before an orgasm, only how was that possible when Dean was so close to blowing his load already, he could taste it? First his brother sniffed at his crotch, which would've made Dean laugh at the gesture along with the canine earnestness in the cant of Sam's expressive eyebrows if it wasn't so damned hot. What was he doing down there? Memorizing freckles, if Dean knew his brother, and every wrinkle and vein of his dick. He wondered if his own dick looked naked to Sam, well, more naked for its lack of foreskin, incomplete. He'd been in high school long enough to know his situation was the majority; more-so, the smaller the town. Through many furtive glances, he also had decided that Sam's was the only uncut unit that he would ever be attracted to. For one thing, the proportions were perfect – not dick to height but regarding the length and thickness of Sam's foreskin. It wasn't one of those really long ones that dribbled off the head in an extended point, but it did cover the glans when Sam was soft, making the whole process of the head starting to peek out and emerging as the shaft rose a thing of natural wonder. Plus, his brother kept himself very clean most of the time, including there. During strenuous hunts and the 5-mile runs Sam liked to take he could get plenty stanky, but it wasn't unusual for him to shower two or three times a day. All the sex upped the total by one or two more times. 

Speaking of showering, Dean panted hard as flashbacks of their most recent shower exploits sprang to mind. They really had done some watersports! Sam had bent over like a good boy; he came, he pissed, and he came again, all with Dean buried deep in his ass. Like muscle memory, Dean's cock screamed at his brain about how good it had felt to just let go and take, while Sam clenched and shuddered around him through his phases of build-up and release. To keep himself from grabbing Sam and shoving him down face-first, Dean twisted his hands in the sheets, squirmed his ass a little against the percale, even spread his thighs out wider to make room for what felt like molten lead impacted balls. 

Sam licked a few times. Wet, warm, teasing little flicks of his pink tongue over the head before dipping into the slit, connecting with thousands of nerve endings that were hard-wired to his fluid-producing organs. Dean's hips jerked, but he stopped himself hearing Sam announce that he was about to suck him dry. If he started to grind and rut, friction or not, he'd come before there was much more sucking, and he wanted to enjoy the sensation of Sam working him for as long as he could.

"Want you to make me!" he coughed as hot slick lips closed around his center of gravity. Unable to help it, Dean moaned, his thighs snapping as wide as they go. "Oh holy shitfuck... suck it all down!" The head lodged in the back of Sam's throat; he swallowed around the tip again and again, tongue doing laps around the ridge or something. Every time it darted over the frenulum, Dean jerked and swore. "Sam... unng, Sammy. So good!" 

Good. But maybe too good; Dean knew he was skirting the edge, sweating, trembling, pupils dilated so everything was too bright and the tingle of release just starting to prickle his spine. Sam was slurping up and down like a pro now. Saliva dripped down his sack, down the crack of his ass, icky and needed all at once. "I'm... I'mma... gonna..." Dean couldn't hold still. He thrust up into the suction and heat of his brother's mouth, again and again. "...Sammy, please, hold my balls down or I can't... gonna...." Surely Sam got the message: he was a dude. It was either forcibly stop the explosion or let this incredible experience end. Dean just wanted it to last forever. 

* * *

When Dean asked him to hold his balls down, Sam wasn't sure if his brother really meant it. They hadn't been together – sexually – for so long yet, and until now Sam had always gotten the impression that 'slow' was a word that didn't occur in Dean's dictionary of sex terms. However, if Dean asked to be prevented from coming, Sam was happy to oblige and draw things out.

Dean had also demanded that Sam 'suck it all down', so Sam carefully wrapped one of his hands around the precious family jewels to stop their ascent, then breathed in calmly and sucked Dean down to the root. 

The response he got was very inspiring and made him smile – as much as was possible with his mouth around the thick cylinder of flesh. He eased up a little and let Dean slide out until only the fat head was still between his lips. Sucking hard and licking along the frenulum earned him a whine Sam had never expected to hear from Dean. He felt his own dick twitch harder and grinned to himself: Dean had asked to be stopped from coming, and Sam would let him wait until he himself was ready for another round again. Maybe they'd even 69 or something and come together. 

Or should he wait until Dean begged for release? The mental image made Sam's eyes widen, but he quickly pushed it aside. That wasn't something he could imagine ever happening. Instead, he continued licking and sucking Dean's dick for a while as if it were a popsicle before swallowing him deeply again.

"Let me know when," he mumbled around the shaft in his throat, wondering if Dean could even understand what he was saying, but he was sure that his brother would get the message.

* * *

Dangerously close to the edge, Dean writhed at the multiple sensations: Sam's slick tongue licking around and around with such finesse; the fist wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him tight; and at last, the dull pain of delayed orgasm coupled with the assurance he couldn't come as his brother grasped his nuts by the roots to reverse the upward pull. 

"Oh, gaawwwd!" he groaned in agony and relief. It has been a close call before Sam had taken Dean's word to heart. The rush of near-climax had him sweating out of every pore, his thighs, ass, ab muscles all tight and tingling. He wished there was some way they could both get off at the same time, because nothing, not even his lips and hands on him, turned Dean on more than watching and hearing Sam in the throes of his own release. Looking down, he was met by Sam staring up at him keenly, appreciatively. Only Sam could look so intellectually interested and yet loving with a dick in his mouth. Not just a dick in his mouth: Dean's red-purple, congested, steel rod, with swollen and puffy pink lips running up and down the length again and again. 

"Not yet! Sam..." Dean blurted urgently when Sam asked 'when' – when to end the jizz-damming and let him blow his load instead of mini-spurting a drop of semen at a time while slowly going insane. Dean's balls tugged on their cords, fighting the hold, just one more ache. "Wanna blow you, too... if you wan'me to." 

* * *

Sam was surprised – and impressed when Dean told him 'Not yet!' From what Sam read, his brother was close to blowing his wad despite Sam's iron hold of his balls. He wouldn't complain, though; this was the first time they could be together without either Jo skulking around their bedroom – for real or in Sam's imagination – or Sam puking up his guts all the time. Then Dean offered to blow him, too, and Sam felt a surge of blood down to his dick. Yes, he definitely wanted that!

"Yeah," Sam groaned after letting go of Dean's raging erection for a moment. "Want you to. I want to be in you when I come."

* * *

Finally they were on the same page. He and Sam would complete each other, possibly simultaneously. Dean smiled broadly and began to shift around on the bed so they could reach each other. He was gonna give such good head, open up his throat, ply every skill he'd learned, Sam was gonna love it; he'd make his brother shoot so hard... 

But then what Sam had just said, _Wanna be in you when I come_ broke the bubble of his little moment of joy. "Huh? Whaddayoumean, in–?" It was physically impossible for Sam to spit-roast Dean – or anyone single-handedly. Or with a single dick. It was one thing for Dean to top, but the mere suggestion of it going the opposite way regressed him all the way back to junior high and the notion that a man doesn't let another man touch his ass. Dean found himself inching away from Sam; or make that, from Sam and not-little-at-ALL Little Sam. Stroking or sucking it was a far cry from stuffing it through his scared little hole. 

But Dean was a hunter, and he wasn't scared of anything. Was he? And the last few weeks had proven he wasn't exactly straight, however that might mess with his self-image, which wasn't too bright and shiny anyway. Still, he needed clarification. "You can't 69 and fuck me at the same time," he stated the obvious. "Which did you mean? 'Cuz... I don't think..." 

Yeah, so he said, but Dean was still to the point of pain with how hard he was and his internal filter was wide open, feeding him imagery – sight and sound both, of Sam on top of him, grinding and grunting and making those chuffing noises usually reserved for moments of extreme duress during intense fights. That's what he'd had in mind a minute ago when he'd suggested they go down on each other. He didn't mind lying back and letting Sam fuck his face – that would be sexy as hell, in fact. It was just....

* * *

Dean began to move and while Sam had been reluctant to be touched again only maybe a quarter of an hour ago, now he couldn't wait to have his brother's eager mouth on him, sucking and slurping, swallowing him to the root, just like Sam was going to do again as soon as they were in position...

...only Dean froze in mid-move and looked up, confused at first and then... scared? Sam's eyebrows rose. Was it even possible that Dean could get scared? And by what? Sam sat up and took a quick glance around the room, but he couldn't perceive any potential threat, although...

... shit, when they'd stumbled in here, Sam had been so desperate to empty his bladder, and then... other... _events_ had taken priority so that in their horny stupidity they'd forgotten all about precautions. Not even salt lines had been put at the door and window, which meant that...

... what if anyone, anything had got wind of his pregnancy? Humans as well as any supernatural being could be eager to hunt him down and take away the baby...

Any thought of sex momentarily forgotten, Sam swallowed hard. Before he could open his mouth to ask if Dean had heard or seen anything, however, Dean asked him whether he meant fucking him or 69, pointing out that both couldn't be done at the same time.

"Huh?" Apparently, Sam's brain was taking the scenic route back to what they were doing. "Oh that..." The moment it left his mouth, he realized how stupid it sounded and it made him cringe. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I thought you'd seen something..."

He caught himself. "We didn't salt the door and window. Let me just take care of that and then I'll be happy to continue blowing you, fuck you, 69, or whatever else you feel like."

* * *

Just when things were getting to be too much, Sam backed off. In a decidedly odd turn of events, he went to dig a can of salt from his one of the duffels and announced he would take care of their usual duty. "Seriously? You're gonna salt the..." Dean gestured toward the front of the room, "now?" Maybe he sounded incredulous, and he was a little: It was a good idea, though, because they were at their most vulnerable currently. He couldn't help raking his eyes up and down his brother's naked, rock-hard body. Why did he hide it all the time? If he didn't, he'd have put Dean out of business long ago, so to speak. Maybe. And Dean would never have had the chance to be with him, because some other blond Amazon or tiny brunette or anything in between would have snapped Sam up years ago. 

"I didn't see anything," be blurted. "Just, um..." the last time he'd stated he couldn't do _that,_ Sam had been less than pleased, had yelled at him about Dean trying to stuff him into some messed-up Madonna-whore role. He couldn't stand another fight, not when they were already on treacherouus ground after the extremely tense atmosphere at the Roadhouse and the impending 'conversation' with Bobby. "I wasn't sure what you wanted. I know what I want..." Dean put on his best horn-dog face. "Want you down my throat while you do that to me. Gonna swallow every drop you have." 

* * *

Sam was surprised when Dean seemed to object the simple safety procedure they'd carried out for years, first thing they entered a room. He got it, though: Dean's lower brain trumped his upper brain, just as Sam's had minutes ago. Also... "Um, maybe it's maternal instinct, you know, protecting the unborn..." As if that statement wasn't embarrassing enough, he blushed. Great. Now Dean would never stop ribbing him.

"Anyway, I'm done now. As for you..."

When he turned toward the bed again, the image of his brother naked and needy hit him like a sledge hammer. Sucking Dean, Sam had been so close that he couldn't appreciate the full picture, the raging erection, the wet purple skin over the rock-hard flesh... A whining sound escaped from his throat.

"Fuck," he pressed out, "you're so hot! I want you so bad–" Sam interrupted himself. "In my mouth, I mean," he explained. "I want you to shoot down my throat and make me choke on it."

Seeing Dean squirming on the bed, however, gave him another idea and he wondered if Dean would humor him, if just for a few seconds. Sam licked his lips nervously. 

"But right now... I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you do it. Get yourself all riled up for me so that my first licks will make you blow your wad."

He waited breathlessly for Dean's response.

* * *

Dean blinked; his brother – his scorching-hot, towering, porn star perfect specimen of a brother – had just called _him_ hot and demanded to see Dean touch himself for Sam's viewing pleasure. Any 'Mommy' jokes he'd been about to half-ass died before reaching his lips, replaced by a slutty moan. "Anything you want..." The words were another moan, deeper, from low in his gut. Dean didn't know what all he might be offering but his hand reaching for his dick, still wet from Sam's saliva, knew what to do. 

If Sam wanted a show, he'd get a show. The bedding was damp and rumpled under him, sticking to him as Dean wiggled around to get more comfortable. All his adolescent and adult life, Dean had never been all that shy about playing with himself. Already he was stroking it, thrusting into his fist. Pull, twist, shift the taut skin, squeeze harder on the way down, stroke, stroke, flick the edge of the head; he threw one knee farther out to the side, locking eyes with Sam, which jolted him at all the things he saw there, all for him. Dean had to yank his own balls, threatening as they were to pull up into his body. As if he could feel it too, Sam's mouth quirked. Then he licked his lips, probably unconsciously but Dean echoed it. Even for him, his lips felt swollen, like things lower down. He was close, so close... what would Sam do if he just let it go and came all over himself? But that wasn't what they'd agreed to.

More pre-come blurted out. The calluses on his fingers scraped just the right way through the self-made slick. Arching his back, Dean hissed, "Get over here, or you'll be too late to catch it." 

* * *

Seeing Dean actually complying to Sam's request made Sam let out a keening sound before he was even aware. He imagined the long strokes he was watching applied to himself and promptly a rush of slick leaked from his dick. Oh yes, he was ready again. Only now he wanted to continue watching, and he wasn't disappointed by the show his brother put on for him.

Sam swore that he'd never seen anything this hot before. After only a minute, Dean's body began to shake, his abs quivered, and when Dean hissed that he was almost there, Sam knew he had literally only seconds to spare.

"I'mma catch it all," he whispered as he sunk down on the bed and wrapped his lips around the swollen head. "Mmmmmmmm..."

* * *

For a while, Sam just stood there watching. It was almost ironic, his scarred perfection against the background of typical ghastly wallpaper, this with faded orange flowers. His mouth hung open, pink and slack; his hand wandered to his upward-pointing erection. Even so far gone, Dean was ever-watchful of every nuance of his brother's sexuality: how his nostrils flared, how his balls tightened, how slick ran down his dick. He knew a second before it happened that Sam was going to launch himself at the bed, and then he did, hunter-silent and and intent as a hungry predator. He wondered for a further fraction of a second if Sam would still be able to move so gracefully in a few months. The thought fled in the wake of all the muscle and skin flowing in harmony, straight at him. Sam's head bent down, hair swinging forward as he took Dean into his mouth, to the root. 

To call the needy whine wrenched from Dean 'unmanly' fell a few light-years short. Sam had made a similar sound a minute before or Dean might have been embarrassed. He couldn't help it, though, any more than he could stop the powerful spasms that shook his thighs and squeezed the throttled spunk from his balls just seconds after Sam sucked him in again. "Oh gawd, yeah, I'm coming, oh fuck... Sammy, feels so fucking good..." Dean prattled on and on, thrusting brainlessly into the wet warmth hoover-ing his deluge of sticky cream. He hit the back of Sam's throat but Sam just kept swallowing him down. 

"Okay... okay..." In an instant, Dean went from blowing his wad and wanting it to last forever to being completely over-sensitive. "I'm good..." He reached down, fumbled a bit, got his fingers laced into Sam's hair to hold him still. "Your turn," he panted. 

* * *

He was not a second too early: Sam had barely taken Dean in in all his glory when he already felt the first jet hit the roof of his mouth. From there, it just went on and on; Dean kept moaning and babbling how good it felt, and his spunk kept coming and coming. Sam drank him down, loving every drop of it, and continued sucking.

If he'd expected the flood to ebb down to a trickle and end things slowly, he was wrong: all of a sudden, the bobbing of Sam's head was stopped by Dean's hand in his hair. Oh, oversensitive, Sam's endorphin-flooded brain provided a little belatedly when Dean flinched under his sucking. A second later, he groaned deeply when Dean announced that it was his turn now.

"Fuck, yeah!" Sam rarely swore, but he was so hard now that his brain-mouth filter was bypassed by his urgent need. "Go have your wicked way with me, then," he grinned.

* * *

"Wicked... Heh, you make it sound like we're witches," Dean slurred, as if the amount of spell-work they'd done in their lives didn't make it almost a fact, spewing of bodily fluids aside. Speaking of which... 

Turning his body around, Dean flipped Sam onto his back and slithered down, pushing those long legs apart to make room for himself to work. After not one but two orgasms earlier, he knew that he could take his time on this blow job to lavish Sam with the attention and love he deserved. Sam continued to leak on himself, and Dean's mouth watered at the remembered taste of his brother's sugar-sweet juices. First through, the musk from Sam's groin was smacking him in the face – Dean took a deep breath in, then licked a path up one thigh till his nose snugged up under Sam's sack. Before, he'd been hell-bent on rimming, but he could understand that Sam might not want to be touched there after their rough shower sex. So he instead, he flashed a grin up at Sam then sucked one testicle into his mouth. 

Like the rest of him, Sam's balls were substantial, and they were far from empty, he could tell. Still, he could be delicate, because they probably ached like hell, a sentiment Dean could appreciate. Sucking one egg-shaped nut, he flicked his tongue around over as much of the surface skin as he could reach. Just when the semi-spongy sphere began to tighten, he pulled off and went to the other side. All the while, he kneaded the shifting flat muscles of Sam's inner thighs, thumbs pressing along his perineum. It didn't take long before Sam was panting and rolling his hips. 

"Tell me what you want now, Sammy," Dean ordered, "or I might just leave you to jerk off all alone." He wouldn't, and they both knew it. Until they'd finally become lovers, Sam had been intensely private about his sex life, even _that_. The few times he'd made explicit comments, such as when he'd come clean about Ruby 2.0, it had embarrassed them both into impressions of blushing schoolboys. They'd since had their hands, mouths and dicks all over each other, but – Sam's – masturbatory activities were still a bit like forbidden fruit. Dean wasn't going to get it up again for hours. He elaborated, "Want me to suck it, or watch you play with yourself first...?"

* * *

"Witches, brrr," Sam shuddered, but even the reference to the usually pretty disgusting effects they related to didn't make him lose his erection. He immediately got distracted from the unsavory topic when Dean started licking and sucking his balls: Sam loved having his balls played with, and he instantly moaned and grunted while his hips carried out a dance to alert Dean to the most sensitive places.

Then, the laving suddenly stopped and Dean asked him what he wanted, threatening that Sam would have to take care of his pleasure by himself if he didn't voice a preference. Before Sam could make up his mind – Dean was so _good_ at so many things – Dean stated more clearly what the options were.

From the glint in his brother's eyes, Sam could almost read that Dean wanted him to masturbate. He blushed fiercely and found himself more than annoyed that although he'd be mortified if he had to do _that_ before somebody's – even Dean's – eyes, the thought also aroused him.

Dean looked at him expecting an answer. Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again when he didn't know what to say. In the end, he opted for the easy way out: "What do _you_ want?"

* * *

At first, Dean considered returning the question with the same one. But no; if Sam wouldn't or couldn't voice his deepest needs, then Dean would give voice for both of them. 

"What I want," Dean groaned, after a split-second of thought, "is for you to touch yourself while I watch and attend to your other hot spots...." he paused to lick a swirling stripe around the hanging fruit before his eyes. Though he was fucked out, he ground his soft dick against the mattress. 

Sam's whole body tensed. Either he was psyching himself up, or he was about to kick Dean across the room. "C'mon Sammy... I'll still drink you down at the end," Dean cajoled. Holding his brother's eyes, he dropped a kiss to the top of his thigh, then another, close to the crease of his hip joint. 

* * *

"Fuck," Sam ground out, his face already turning purple. How was it possible that after all he and Dean had been through he was still blushing like a schoolboy? Worse, why was he _feeling_ like a schoolboy who'd been caught by the headmistress with a porn mag in his hand that wasn't his, and of course nobody would believe him?

And yet, here he was lying on the bed in a ratty motel room hard and dripping already from the prospect of wanking before his brother's eyes and at the same time so embarrassed that he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. Or no, maybe he'd better not wish for the latter: these things had a tendency to become true in the Winchester brothers universe.

Right, then. Sam forced himself to move his resisting hand down to his groin. He couldn't bring himself to touch his dick yet, so he cupped his balls and gently rolled them around in their sac. It didn't take the skin long to tighten around the swollen and heavy stones, and the sensation made Sam let out a deep groan before he even realized he was making a sound. He bit his lip to keep from uttering another moan but didn't succeed. The shame at being watched doing what should be private – why he should be ashamed for that in the first place, Sam didn't know, but it didn't change what he felt – notched up his desire, and the combination of the humiliation and simultaneous arousal made it impossible for him to remain silent.

He watched how Dean's eyes flicked between Sam's face and Sam's hand that was now ceasing the stroking of his balls and moving on behind them to massage his perineum. He still didn't have to courage to touch his dick, which was probably a good thing as he'd cum the moment he go his fingers around it. 

"Shit, Dean," he grunted when the stimulation of the region between the root of his erection and his hole led to another trickle of precum. "What are you doing to me?!"

* * *

Nudging Dean's face away, Sam took over cradling and rolling his balls, which were probably burning to an excruciating degree. The pained noises that exited from Sam's throat confirmed it. The fingers of his other hand crawled stealthily lower, and Dean's hips jerked at the realization that his brother was about to touch himself in a way that Dean had rarely if ever been able to dare. Yet, for some reason, Sam wouldn't take his own dick in hand to bring himself relief. There it lay, pulsing, dripping into his treasure trail, purple-red just like Sam's face under the shiny layer of perspiration. 

Still lower, past the looser skin behind his sac, Sam didn't go in but pressed hard along his taint, which seemed to have a similar effect to rubbing his sweet spot from the inside. He moaned again. Dean was so caught up in watching the stretch of Sam's thighs, his gluteals clenching and unclenching, the muted roll of his abs as he tried not to writhe, that he almost missed it when Sam asked him what Dean was doing to him.

He had to wet his lips with his tongue. All the heavy panting had dried them. "I'm watching my hot, all embarrassed and ashamed but wanting-to-please little brother beat his meat. Or, y'know..." He darted his eyes from the untouched – by Sam – erection less than a foot from his mouth to Sam's face and back. "Go on, Sammy. God gave you junk. Massive, fully functioning, beautiful junk. It's not just for pissing with." Although it was for that too, and Dean felt a lascivious leer light his features as he visualized what they'd done earlier. Sam would know what he was referencing, oh yes. If it was going to end in a staring contest till either Sam brought himself off or Dean blew him, well, they had that sort of time. 

* * *

Dean's voice brought him back to the earlier events. What the fuck had happened in the shower that had Dean fucking him through an orgasm while Sam peed and peed and peed? The need to get off as well as the urgency to empty his screaming bladder had stopped Sam from thinking about it when they'd done it. His arousal-slash-shame should probably prevent him from thinking about it now, too, but Dean pointing out that Sam's junk was made not just for pissing with it reminded Sam that Dean's earlier reaction had been... weird somehow. Not as in bad weird, but... weird weird? It was something that Sam hadn't expected, that apparently – maybe? – Dean had found that exciting.

Sam couldn't help himself. "Did you like it?" he asked. "Me pissing while you did me?" He'd cum so hard! The sense memory of Dean buried deep inside him, reaming him hard and Sam begging for more, hit him and his hand twitched lower toward his hole. 

* * *

"Fuck, yeah, I liked it!" Surely Sam knew he 'liked' it. Dean's hands gripped his brother's sturdy thighs as he went on, each word costing him a measure of his personal dignity, just like him making Sam play with himself for him was costing something. 

"Got me hard as nails... couldn't even control myself, wanted you to... cream yourself on my dick, then lose all your fluids... while I railed you, you don't even know..." Dean panted so hard he could barely get the words out. Puffs of air from his speaking stirred the dark hairs at Sam's groin and chased up his belly. Higher up, those pink-brown nubs crested sculpted pecs, irresistible. Dean snaked an arm up Sam's torso and gave one a pinch.

"I know you wanna finger yourself..." Sam would probably deny it but his fingers were all but circling his hole now. "Do it." 

* * *

If Sam had hoped his inquiry would give him some time to reconsider what he was about to do he was wrong. Dean admitted to being turned on by their earlier actions and then asked him to finger himself. Until Dean pointed it out, Sam hadn't even been aware that his fingers had crept toward his hole, but now there was no denying it.

"I, yeah, I think I want that, b-but..." Sam swallowed. How was he going to explain this, admit that he'd wanted to try it already for a long time but wasn't sure how. It sounded so simple: stick a finger up his ass and rummage around for that spot, but actually doing it was something else – it was okay as long as he was alone, but doing it while his brother was watching?

He swallowed again. "Could you maybe, um, help me? As in, your finger and mine?"

* * *

"What... are you shy now?" Dean grinned. "Not that I'm not willing to help." Hell, he'd go along with pretty much whatever. By now, he wondered if Sam could even come, sometimes it got like that. Reaching for the lube and fumbling a minute to find it in their rumpled mess of a bed, Dean flicked the lid up and squirted a glop onto his first two fingers. Sam's long digits were already nearby, hesitantly hovering. "Here..." he dabbed some onto Sam's fingers, as well. 

"Okay..." Maybe 'shy' was catching. Oh sure, he'd been balls-deep in the same orifice and used his fingers too, but now all Sam's blushing and huffing made Dean think about what he was doing. Wow, what was he becoming? Finally, Dean touched the slightly swollen rim. Puffy and soft, heated, pulsating like Sam's dick in a way. He just felt around the rim leaving lube everywhere, pushing lightly against the definite band of muscle underneath. "You, too," he prompted. "We go in together..." 

* * *

Was he shy? He probably was, Sam had to admit to himself. Just when his mind took off on the welcome distraction from the problem at hand, so to speak, Dean reached for the lube and wet both their fingers. A second later, Sam felt his brother delicately probing his sore entrance and he gasped: already the light touch sent a spark of arousal through him that made him push back against Dean's fingers.

Impatient, Sam forced himself to wait until Dean had dabbed lube all over the rim, making sure Sam wouldn't be hurt, but when Dean prompted that they'd go in together, Sam drew in a sharp breath. This was it, the moment of truth.

"What," he hissed, fearing he'd break into hysterical giggles, "like, on three?" 

* * *

He supposed they couldn't do everything together, not exactly."Yeah, like that. One, two..." 

Just as they had learned to do with unpleasant field medicine, of which a stubborn shoulder dislocation came to mind, Dean didn't wait till the count of three to slip his index finger through the semi-prepped outer rim. He'd intended to stop at the first finger joint to allow Sam to catch up or stop him if it hurt, but the warm, smooth, living tissue enveloped him easily. The sense memory of Sam allowing him inside his body washed over him, as well as the love he felt for his brother. Dean swallowed and looked up. "Alright, now you..." 

* * *

Somehow, Sam had hoped that Dean would change his mind at the last moment, but of course his older brother didn't chicken out. Never. Also, Dean's finger felt so _good!_

"Yeah," Sam half-gasped and half-moaned. He aligned his finger alongside with Dean's and slid it in. Immediately, he felt a wave of intense pleasure. "Oh yes!"

During the excitement, he'd almost forgotten that he still had a hand almost on his dick – how it was possible to not think of that evaded Sam, but his brain was admittedly busy elsewhere – and now he began stroking himself while fumbling for his inner gland. Dean managed to hit it again, sending sparks through his entire body. He thrust into his fist and pushed back on the fingers inside him.

"That... that... oh fuck, Dean, right there, nuh..."

* * *

It must have felt good to Sam, because his slippery finger slid in alongside Dean's a second later, rubbing against it, the movement so reminiscent of when they trapped their two erections between the cradles of their hips and humped each other like animals, all higher intelligence drowned in a miasma of endorphins and lust. Only smaller scale, and for Dean, nowhere near the thrill other than the fact it was driving his brother toward the edge. Sam was instinctively seeking out his own sweet spot, but Dean found it first and Sam jerked in response, his hand flying to his dick. Dean murmured, "So hot, Sammy, when you do yourself just right. Gonna help you... gonna make you fall apart all over again." 

If Sam had his other parts – his hole and his cock – covered so to speak, there was still more that Dean could do. From his position on his belly between Sam's spread legs, he was leaking into the sheets again, grinding slowly, building up friction. His lips tingled, his tongue, waiting to taste. Pure musky testosterone emanated from every pore of Sam's groin: all he needed was a silver straw but Dean did fine on his own, nostrils flaring to capture every mote. That close, his nose sorted the fine variations of pubes, other hair up his belly and down his legs, smoother skin of Sam's thighs and the ridges of muscle cut over his hipbones, a sweet overtone of fresh pre-come, the earth-spunk of his crack, and most mouth-watering, tangy, the scent of his balls. Finger-fucking that slick clench, Dean wiggled in another finger and took the heavily-laden sac in his mouth. 

Sam had already been fucking his fist. Now he was trapped between it, Dean's suction on his balls, and the penetrating digits up his ass. Almost enough to choke on, Dean thought, running his tongue around the stones. Not like he'd share it with his brother now, but he knew how incredible it was, like a blow job but different. Sam deserved everything good, everything as sexy or as kinky as he'd tolerate or just plain orgasmic. Toes curled in midair, Dean hummed, sucked and slurped, pressed against that hidden bump inside that made Sam howl. 

* * *

Just when he'd thought that it couldn't possibly get any better or hotter, Dean sucked Sam's balls into his mouth. Sam's hips lifted off the bed and he literally howled. Digging his heels into the mattress, his toes curled as flashes of intense lust zinged through his body, reverberating from his fingertips and scalp, back to the centers of pleasure inside his ass, on his dick, and now in his balls. Sam's abdominal muscles tensed, then the rest of his body followed as it prepared to release what already felt like building up to a historic flood in his hard-as-stone testicles. 

"Dean, I'mma... I'mma..." was as far as Sam got, then the sentence ended in a hoarse shout when his body convulsed and he shot all over himself, his belly, some even hit his face as he went on massaging his dick to prolong his orgasm.

* * *

Good fucking lord... when Sam Winchester got off, he got off _hard_. From Dean's angle, the arcs of frothy white looked like a geyser. Nutsack still held in the soft, guarded interior of his mouth, Dean stared up in admiration. Sam was just... gone in his passion. Godlike, enraptured, his powerful body heaving, dappled and sheened with sweat, spit, lube, cum... 

Sam howled, eerily lupine, from the throes of his release. The stones Dean massaged with his tongue pulled up tight on their cords, and he let them go, gulping in fresh air and pheromones. Sam, too, was gasping for air, barely conscious from the looks of his slack lips and fluttering eyelids. 

"Sam?" Dean hitched himself up on his elbows. Damn, his brother had made quite the mess. Even now, jizz dribbled from his slit. All that, because of the things Dean did with his hands and mouth and body. He knew the feeling; in the shower, he'd completely lost control and took what was his with all the force his hunter's physique could spare. 'He's mine!' They'd said the claiming words in the throes of sex. Dean felt it even more now; it strengthened every time they were together. 'I love him so much... I'm in love with him.' The thought of not having this, this _thing_ with Sam wrenched Dean's heart like the fatal shock years before. He would never let anything take his brother from him: not demons, not angels, no one. 

Dean did his best to ignore the hungry throb between his legs as he crawled up Sam's body. He licked a stripe up the underside of his slowly deflating cock. Further up was a mixture of pre-come and spunk; beyond that, cream sprayed everywhere from nipple to nipple and sternum to chin. In all honesty, Dean had to admit he didn't really like the taste of sperm but it was Sam's, it had been spilled for him, and he wanted it. Underneath was salt and skin which he enjoyed a lot, always had, with any partner. 

Licking his brother clean one lap of tongue at a time, Dean was sorely, mouth-wateringly tempted to try getting Sam worked up again, but he didn't. Instead, he did no more than to remove the cream coating from Sam's nipples, and he lingered longer licking up the thick streaks from his abdomen. He had no idea where inside the... he couldn't think of the right word... might be located, but he found himself nudging Sam's dick down so he could kiss the area where it had lain, first pulsing and rigid to the point bursting, then soft and sweetly nestled in its foreskin.

* * *

"Mmnnn..." Sam sighed and went limp when the violent spasms abated. As always when he'd been with Dean he felt completely wiped out. Just lying there on the bed in the ratty motel room – he couldn't care less about their surroundings – with Dean cleaning him up with his tongue, and apparently loving every second of it, just like Sam did. 

He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling his brother how much he loved him: there were limits, after all, and if Dean would tell him to stop being sappy, Sam felt so open and raw that he was likely to burst into tears. Instead, he lay back and enjoyed, waiting for Dean to finish and take it from there.

Dean had cum only a few minutes ago, but Sam and Dean weren't like most other guys: even compared to what Sam remembered from his bragging schoolmates, his and his brother's stamina as well as recovery time was outstanding. So...

"You wanna go again?" he asked.

* * *

"Do you?" Dean asked. Below him, Sam lolled like a wet noodle, arms and legs flung every which way and unmoving. He hadn't said anything beyond a few little grunts of appreciation while Dean licked him clean, leaving Dean to believe his brother was utterly fucked out. He really had not planned on reacting to Sam's latest performance but he couldn't help it, and there was no reason to hide it even it they didn't do anything about it. 

The presence of a hard-on skimming along his leg, then hip, had captured Sam's attention, it seemed. "You sucked me dry only like 15 minutes ago." Dean lowered his body down till he was lying fully on top of Sam. "I could just..." he rolled his pelvis a couple times, "against you, like when we were teenagers. Unless you have a better idea," he grinned. 

* * *

"Me? Go again? Naw," Sam grinned. "I'll lie here, let you hump me, and enjoy seeing and hearing you getting off. Sorry, but I don't think that little Sam will rise again anytime soon." His grin widened although his limbs felt lead-heavy. "You've done me in, as in completely exhausted me. Not that I'm complaining."

He wrapped his arms around Dean who was still on top of him and pulled him as close as he could, then pushed against the hot bulge that was pressing on his thigh.

* * *

Looking into his brother's changeable eyes and seeing his tiredness, Dean echoed, "Naw, enough's enough, even for us." He dropped a quick peck on Sam's lips and rolled off, pulling the covers over them both. They'd been planning on a nap when the last round had... happened. Orgasms took a lot out of Sam, though he bounced back fast. These days, he should probably save some energy for other things. 

"I just cleaned you up, why would I want to get you all sticky again?" Shoulder-bumping Sam as best he could, Dean continued his justifications. There was a series of stains on the ceiling that reminded him vaguely of the Great Lakes, minus Lake Superior, and a spider spinning a web in the corner farthest from the door. Not too bright, Dean mused. "No one ever died of not having enough sex to shoot blanks. Let's catch some Z's. You can be the big spoon, Sasquatch." Yes, better that way, or Dean would wind up grinding all over Sam's butt. The thought was not helping his erection fizzle. It could be worse, though – he wasn't in the wet spot. Dean turned his back to Sam, who for all he knew was already asleep. 

* * *

"Uh-huh..." Sam was out like a light.


End file.
